The Seventh Grimoire
by strikethepose
Summary: Harry isn't really expecting to be hauled out of Privet Drive in quite so dramatic a fashion, but nor is he expecting what a summer spent at Hogwarts holds for him: joining the Order of the Phoenix, private lessons from Dumbledore, and a book that Voldemo
1. Default Chapter

**Chapter 1 OWLS, owls, and away**

Despite what the weatherman had promised the previous evening, the morning sky was the same thundery purple haze the sun had set upon, and the air of the smallest bedroom of number four Privet Drive was still close and stifling. Harry Potter lay sprawled on his bed with the sheets kicked into a tangle around his ankles and one arm thrown over his face, waiting for the owl that would bring him the_ Daily Prophet,_ and with it, hopefully, news

Not that he expected much. Since the end of June, when— Harry screwed up his eyes as tight as they would go — the Ministry of Magic finally had to admit that the most evil wizard in anyone's memory had returned, there had been a fortnight of ridiculous bluster from Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, on the front page; increasingly hysterical editorials inside the paper; then...nothing. As soon as it became apparent that Voldemort wasn't currently on a murderous rampage, the front page reverted to more usual fare: the bass player of _The Weird Sisters_ being divorced by his wife because of a six-day-long Firewhisky binge; and the minutiae of the corrupt bid Transylvania had made for the next Quidditch World Cup. Nor had news been forthcoming from his best friends, Ron and Hermione. Letters from them were no more informative than those he received from them last summer, but this was because, they said, there _was_ no news. Instead they were full of concerns about OWL results and how he, Harry, was... Part of him thought he very much preferred the tantalising suggestions and half-intelligence of last summer. Even the pain in his scar, which had prickled almost constantly for months, had been absent for the past two weeks...

Unable to lie any longer and unwilling to let his mind drift down that avenue again, he stood and dressed quickly. Just as he was pulling his T-shirt over his head, he heard a _flump_ behind him. Turning around quickly, he saw a staticy-looking brown owl on his desk with a rolled-up newspaper at its feet, holding out its leg which had a small leather pouch attached to it. He had barely gave the owl a Knut when it spread his wings and flew out of the window, very nearly straight into a handsome tawny owl bearing an official-looking scroll with a red wax seal.

Fearing this could be only one thing; he hurriedly gave the owl a treat from the bag beside Hedwig's empty cage, and tore the scroll open. It was his OWL results.

_Dear Mr Potter_ he read

_Enclosed are the results of your Ordinary Wizarding Levels, taken in June of this year, as reported to the Wizarding Examinations Authority by Professor Griselda Marchbanks._

_Please note that Astronomy (practical) grades have been adjusted to compensate for the considerable disruption to the exam. Re-examination in the subject will also be made available to those who request it_

_I am also delighted to inform you that you received the highest mark in living memory for Defence Against the Dark Arts at OWL: 237. Please allow me to be the first to congratulate you on what was truly an exceptional performance._

_Enjoy the rest of your summer!_

_John Xavium Tofty_

_Wizarding Examinations Authority_

Harry stared at the final paragraph of the letter for several minutes before its meaning started to sink in. _Highest mark in living memory!_ Then something Hermione had said months ago came back to him: "_Harry, you're the best in the year at Defence Against the Dark Arts...think about what you've done..."_

Well, yes, alright, he knew after producing a Patronus in the practical part of the exam that he had done well, and he had found the paper pretty easy, but never had he thought that he would receive the highest mark in the class, never mind the highest mark in living memory...

Remembering that he had, in fact, also taken other exams, he turned to the second sheet of parchment with a deep breath.

_Astronomy Exceeds Expectations_

_Care of Magical Creatures Outstanding_

_Charms Exceeds Expectations_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts Outstanding_

_Divination Poor_

_Herbology Exceeds Expectations_

_History of Magic Acceptable_

_Potions Outstanding_

_Transfiguration Exceeds Expectations_

He let out a small snort of disbelief. An _O _in Potions? That meant...he scanned the grades again...he could take all the classes he needed to be an Auror! Remembering his career interview with Professor McGonagall at which she had said to him, and Professor Umbridge, that "_I will assist you to become an Auror if it is the last thing I do...If I have to coach you nightly, I will make sure you receive the required results!_" Harry smiled at the memory of Umbridge's fury at that pronouncement, but his smile became grimmer as he imagined Snape's face when he learned that he would be in his NEWT Potions class - he was unlikely to be particularly enthused with the prospect, although come to think of it, nor was he himself. Two more years of Snape was far from being a thought he relished: every time he thought about the Potions Master he felt bile rise in his throat and his fingernails clenched so deeply into his palms that little white half-moons remained for ages afterwards; and not to mention the deeply unfair treatment he was bound to be on the receiving end of during lessons... Whatever Dumbledore had told him at the end of last term, he would never forgive Snape for... Harry sighed. He could just imagine what Sirius's reaction to his marks would have been – he had a sneaking suspicion that it would have involved beverages considerably more potent than Butterbeer.

With a sigh he turned to the _Daily Prophet_, not really expecting to see anything of interest, but the headline made thoughts of Snape fly out of his head and his skin crawl.

_**CORNELIUS FUDGE MURDERED**_

_**DARK MARK SEEN ABOVE**_

_The Minister for Magic was discovered dead early this morning in his official London townhouse, apparently killed by the lethal _Avada Kedavra _curse by the supporters of He Who Must Not Be Named._

Harry read the rest of the article sitting on the edge of his bed, open-mouthed. Beside the article was a photograph of a glittery skull with a serpent tongue above a neat sandstone terrace. Harry swallowed hard. He had certainly disliked the Minister, but no one deserved...He had never thought that things would begin with anything like this...fanfare.

He jumped as a blinding sheet of lightning tore across the sky, accompanied by a guttural rumble of thunder and a mildly irritated-looking snowy owl soaring in through the window with a dead mouse clamped in her beak.

He turned to Hedwig and absently stroked her head, his thoughts racing. What would happen now? Surely the entire Ministry would be in chaos, and surely that was exactly what Voldemort wanted? Harry felt sick. What was he planning?

With a final glance at the paper Harry pulled open the door and walked slowly downstairs to the kitchen, where his aunt and uncle and Dudley were already seated around the table, staring at the television. Instead of the death of a prominent member of the government, a balding middle-aged man in a lurid Hawaiian shirt was reporting from a pub in St Albans sat beside a cider-drinking chinchilla, who, according to the amused commentary, enjoyed half a pint every day.

None of the Dursleys bothered to acknowledge him as he sat and helped himself to some toast and marmalade. He had exchanged very few words with them since he had returned from Hogwarts – he had very little to say to them, and it seemed that they very much preferred the absence of communication. Just as he was about to reach for his second piece of toast, the front doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon grunted and Harry sighed. Even before Aunt Petunia turned to glare at him, he was standing up.

Expecting to see the postman with a parcel or an overly enthusiastic collector for charity when he opened the door, Harry was astounded to see a grim elderly woman he vaguely recognised standing on the front doorstep wearing a dress, which looked like it had once been a curtain, and carrying a battered pink handbag with a wand poking out of it. Before he could open his mouth to say anything she had pushed inside and closed the door with a slam.

"Wotcher Harry —" she began, just as Uncle Vernon came striding out of the kitchen. Unfortunately he caught Tonks in the middle of transforming her severe grey perm into a slightly less respectable mass of violet curls; her nose screwed up unbecomingly in concentration.

"Boy! I've told you..." he boomed, "I will have no fre—"

Tonks had her the tip of her wand pointing threateningly at the end of his corpulent nose before Uncle Vernon could complete his sentence, but when she spoke it was in an incongruously friendly voice.

"Listen up Mr Dursley, we have very little time and if you delay us I _swear_ I will curse you seven ways from Sunday. Now, I am sure you will be _delighted_ to hear that your nephew will shortly be leaving your care, but instead of any tearful goodbyes please return to your breakfast."

To Harry's astonishment, Uncle Vernon did as he was told; though his face was purple and he was muttering murderously under his breath. With a grin, Tonks turned to Harry.

"Lets get you out of this joint!"

Harry, amazed, opened his mouth to agree, but was cut off by her turning him forcefully around by the shoulders to face the stairs.

"We're leaving as soon as you can be packed," she said from behind him.

Harry nodded and ran up the stairs two at a time, hearing Tonks behind him do exactly the same. It wouldn't take long for him to pack; he had barely unpacked when he returned for the summer: it was just too much hassle after...

Going quickly to his bed, he grabbed the parchment with his OWL results on it and threw it into his trunk. Turning to the bedside table, he stuffed his wand into his back pocket, seized the couple of books he had tried to distract himself with and a letter from Ron which had arrived yesterday, and with the few items of muggle clothing lying on the floor, dumped them into the trunk. Distantly he heard the doorbell ring again.

A _thud_ behind him told him Tonks had joined him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her grinning sheepishly and rubbing her elbow.

"Considerably tidier than the last time I saw this place!" she said, smirking.

"What's going on?" he asked. Something about Tonks's smile, which looked rather more forced than he remembered, said a bruised elbow didn't factor on a list of even her most trivial worries.

Instead of replying straight away, she crossed to the window and looked both ways down the street. Evidently seeing nothing of concern, she turned back to him. Spying the _Daily Prophet _on his bed, she said,

"Well Fudge is the least of our problems, put it that way."

Before Harry could ask anything further, she was snapping the latches of his trunk closed and hustling Hedwig into her cage. After several moments rummaging in her handbag, she removed what looked like a crumpled piece of _Droobles Best Blowing Gum_ - wrapper. Tapping it with her wand, she murmured "_Portus_" and the paper glowed.

"Right," she said, "got everything? I'll take your trunk; you take Hedwig's cage. Hold onto it, she'll probably not appreciate this mode of transport."

Harry seized the cage firmly around the middle and reached out to touch the portkey. Tonks counted down

"One...two..." but before she could say "Three," a scream rang up the stairs.

Muttering a number of choice expletives under her breath, Tonks turned on her heels and peered cautiously out into the hallway and down the stairs as a second scream pierced the air... and died at its crescendo.

Suddenly Tonks pulled away from the hallway, just in time to miss the jet of blue-green light that streaked diagonally upward through the space that her head had occupied half a moment before. She whirled back to face Harry, again holding out the bubble-gum-wrapper portkey.

Reaching out, he barely had time to feel the paper in his hand before he felt a abrupt tug somewhere behind his navel, and he and Tonks were pulled out of Privet Drive in a surge of colour.


	2. Return to Hogwarts

Chapter 2 Arrival at Hogwarts 

Harry felt the wind get knocked out of him as he and Tonks slammed into a dusty wooden floor, an uncomfortable tangle of limbs and luggage. Lying on his back, slightly dazed, it took him several moments to realise that his former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin, was standing above his head gazing down at them looking mildly amused, doubtlessly by their clumsy arrival.

Lupin offered him his hand and hauled him up. Immediately he was almost suffocated in a thick cloud of brown hair as he was seized him in a hug.

"Oh Harry!" a voice squealed in his ear, "how are you? Did you see the paper this morning? I hardly had a chance to read the front page before Professor Lupin came to collect me and..."

Harry distangled himself from Hermione and after catching his breath, he helped Tonks stand up.

"I'm fine, I think..." He turned to Tonks, who was dusting herself down, "was that Death Eaters?"

She replied, "Well if they weren't it was an odd time for a costume party".

Harry heard Hermione gasp and Lupin sharply ask Tonks what happened, but his thoughts were racing away. If Death Eaters had come to Privet Drive then his Aunt, Uncle and Dudley were surely dead, just diverting playthings on the way to him. With a painful spasm in his guts, he realised that _five_ people were now dead because of him - Cedric, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley and...

With a jolt, he realised where the Portkey had taken them. He hadn't bothered to look around him when he and Tonks had arrived, but now he saw that he was in the grimy, musty, basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place: the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and his dead godfather's prison for the last eleven months of his life. While he had desperately wanted out of Privet Drive for the past fortnight, not once had it crossed his mind that to leave his Aunt and Uncle's would mean coming _here_, of all places. It was full of morose reminders of his godfather, and the fact that if it weren't for he, Harry, Sirius would still be alive...

Forcefully pulling his attention back to the kitchen, he became aware of Lupin looking at him expectantly, as though he had just asked a question.

"What? Sorry, I wasn't listening" he said.

Peering closely at Lupin, Harry could see that, though his face had always been prematurely lined, the creases had become more prominent, and the shadows around his eyes darker than ever. He looked thinner and shabbier and greyer, as though he was wasting away.

"How are you Harry?"

When Harry didn't reply – what could he say that could possibly describe how he was feeling, being back in the place where Sirius had lived, his only living relatives murdered only minutes ago because of him? – Lupin continued,

"We're not staying here: it's too risky to have the Order coming and going through the square now Voldemort will know where Headquarters is. We'll be travelling onto Hogwarts with Floo powder."

Harry managed to smile weakly, incredibly relieved that he wouldn't have to stay in this house for the rest of the summer. Sensing Hermione watching him, he met her eyes, which were full of concern. Recognising that question-about-to-be-asked expression, and knowing that it was unlikely to be a question he could bear answering, he thought it safer to turn the conversation in a direction he could face.

"How many _Outstandings_ did you get then?" he said, forcing his facial muscles into a smile, knowing that she was bound to have received the top grade in every single one of the exams she sat and desperate to talk about it.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, Lupin threw a handful of glimmery purple powder into the fire he had lit in the grate, and there was an enormous rush of sound in the kitchen as the previously meagre fire grew to a height greater than Harry's. But instead of green, as was usual for Floo-powder fires, this one was sky blue. In response to his curious look, Tonks said,

"Hogwarts has been totally cut off from the Floo network for security, so Dumbledore charmed a couple of strategic fires so they could connect to the one in his office, but we have to use special powder." She smiled mischievously, "And obviously it makes it so much more difficult for the Ministry to figure out what we're doing and stick their dirty great noses in." Clearly Tonks hadn't forgotten the Ministry's previous attitude toward anyone with ties to Dumbledore. To emphasise her point, her nose swelled into an enormously warty, dripping purple lump.

Catching sight of Lupin glaring at her, Tonks coughed and dropped her eyes, abashed. Lupin said,

"I'll go first, then you Hermione, then Harry. Tonks is staying here to keep an eye on the place," Tonks's eyes grew into huge grey plates, "Hermione, if you've never travelled by floo before it can be a bit –"

"Vomit-inducing" interrupted Tonks

"Right," Lupin continued, "but because this fire is only connected to one other, you won't have to worry about getting out at the wrong place." With that, he stepped smoothly into the blue flames, and disappeared in a whirl. Looking apprehensive, Hermione followed, pulling her trunk, her ginger fluffball of a cat, Crookshanks, jammed under her arm. She, too, disappeared with a whirl.

With a grimace, Harry walked into the fire, Hedwig's cage under his arm. Floo powder was his least favourite mode of transportation. As soon as he was properly in the fire he began to spin very fast. Instinct told him to keep his elbows by his side, but that was easier said than done while holding a trunk and a cage containing a disgruntled owl.

With a clatter and a bang and great relief, Harry fell out of the fire and straight onto a thick carmine carpet. Shaking some hot soot out of his hair, he looked around him and found that he was indeed in Dumbledore's office. Hermione, who was standing nearest the fireplace trying to remove a smouldering piece of coal from her sleeve, offered him her hand and hauled him up.

Watching him from their portraits hanging on the circular walls were dozens of past Headmasters and Headmistresses, all of whom were wearing sombre and meditative expressions. Grouped around Dumbledore's desk were Mr and Mrs Weasley, their two eldest sons Bill and Charlie, and a three other members of the Order of the Phoenix: Kingsley Shacklebolt, a tall black auror built like a muggle tank; Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody, who was as grizzled and paranoid as his spinning magical eye was disconcerting; and Dedalus Diggle, who, Harry was surprised to see, looked solemn: Harry had never seen him look anything less than terribly excited. All were listening intently to Lupin, who was seemingly recounting what Tonks had said about Death Eaters in Privet Drive. Everyone in the room looked as grim as the paintings. Harry got the impression that their expressions had been set like that for some time.

Lupin finished his account, and the group turned to him and Hermione.

"Harry! Hermione!" With a bustle, Mrs Weasley came forward and hugged them both, "It's so lovely to see you! Ron and Ginny are here as well but they're up in Gryffindor Tower, of course. I'm sure you four have a lot to catch up on, so if you want to go and join them, I'll send lunch up later. Just leave your trunks here and I'll have a house-elf bring them up to your dormitories." She said this very quickly and distractedly.

Harry stared at her in disbelief, dimly aware of Hermione admonishing Mrs Weasley for treating house-elves like slaves. After everything Dumbledore had told him at the end of last term, he had expected to at least be told what the hell was going on. What had Tonks said earlier? _"Fudge is the least of our problems."_

"Mrs Weasley," he said, "What else is going on? Aside from Fudge, I mean? Tonks told me..."

As Harry said this, Mrs Weasley's lips set into a thin line. Only when Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, had catapulted over the boundaries she had set for acceptable behaviour had Harry seen her looking so very disapproving. She also had a look in her eye that Harry had seen once before: in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place last summer, when she had stopped Sirius and Lupin from answering his questions about what Voldemort wanted.

"Well there seems to have been an esc..." she stopped and looked slightly flustered for a moment before continuing firmly, "but we don't really know, and in any case, it's nothing for you to worry about." With that, she took both he and Hermione by the elbow and led them forcefully out of the office, "The password for the common room is _circumagus_". Before Harry had time to object, he and Hermione were staring at a closed door.

Harry snorted in exasperation. Once again he wasn't going to be told _anything._ After everything that happened last year, when him _not knowing_ got Sirius killed and his friends hurt, he was still going to have to piece together hints and half-clues in the hope that the jigsaw came together accurately and not in some way that had him lead people into an ambush.

He realised that he must have been frowning into space when Hermione waved a hand in front of his face.

"Shall we go then?" she asked, in a tone of voice that suggested she was at least as happy about the situation as he was. Harry sighed in resignation and nodded. If Mrs Weasley found them lurking out here she would probably beat them about the heads with the business end of a broomstick: he had seen her do that to Fred and George on one occasion, just barely after the look he had just been on the receiving end of.

Half-heartedly, they set off down the spiral staircase.

"You don't think there's been an escape from Azkaban, do you?" Hermione blurted, twenty feet from the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office. "Mrs Weasley started to say 'escape,' I think, before she stopped herself. 'there seems to have been an esc...' she said. You don't think...not the Death Eaters in Azkaban?"

Harry stopped dead and looked at Hermione, his mind racing. He had been too peeved off with Mrs Weasley to really listen to what she was saying.

"Tonks said that something was going on when she came to get me... she saw the paper and said something was a bigger problem than Fudge being murdered..." he said slowly "but I didn't get a chance to ask her what she meant... I'd say that a eleven escaped Death Eaters is a pretty big problem though."

Harry started walking again, staring at his feet in concentration. "It would explain why everyone seems in such a panic..." And something occurred to him, "and why...Did anyone tell you someone would be coming to get you this morning? Because Tonks just showed up on the doorstep...If the Death Eaters had escaped, it would make sense that to get us somewhere safe, wouldn't it? Because they..."

"Would most likely come after us," Hermione finished. Harry nodded. She continued, "and it's not as if my house has any protective charms around it: if they came looking for me it's as good as gone. And you're...well..._you_, so..."

Frowning, Harry said, "I can't believe they're doing to this to me again! After Dumbledore told me that — " He stopped awkwardly. That wasn't a sentence he was ready to finish. He coughed, hoping that Hermione wouldn't notice. "After last term I thought that —" He trailed off again, realising that there was really was no way to say why he thought he would be involved without revealing everything Dumbledore had told him in his office after Sirius had been killed. Thinking it best to change he subject entirely, and knowing it was unlikely that Hermione could resist the discussion of academic matters a second time, he said, "How _did_ you do on your OWLs then? All _Outstandings_?"

He was proven right.

"Oh!" she said, "yes, and you'll never guess what! The letter said that I had the highest marks this year in Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Transfiguration _and_ Charms! Apparently I'm the only person ever to do that! My parents were so excited, not that they really had a clue what any of the subjects _were_ obviously, but still! And I had been so worried about Astronomy, you know, with what happened during it, but that was fine as well, I was so relieved!"

Not entirely willing to admit that he didn't really know what Arithmancy or Ancient Runes were either, he merely grinned.

"Congratulations Hermione, you really deserved it. With all that time you spent hogging the best table in the library..." He laughed as she squealed in mock offence and punched him playfully on the shoulder.

"How did you do?" she asked, when they had both stopped laughing. "You must have gotten an _O_ in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Yeah..." he mumbled, wondering how to say this, "highest mark in...well...living memory actually..." he finished sheepishly, barely audible.

Hermione made up for his lack of volume with an almost ear-splitting shriek that reverberated off the stone walls.

"Harry! What did you get! It must have been...over 200 because I looked up the records before the exams to see what the standard was and I remember thinking what a high mark that was! And that was almost 30 years ago! Sirius would have..."

Harry glanced at her sharply.

"Sirius would have been so proud. Your Mum and Dad as well." She continued firmly. "There's no point pretending that's not what you've been wondering about." After a few moments of silence she said, "_are_ you all right Harry? Your letters didn't really say much. Did your Aunt and Uncle treat you okay after what happened at the station?"

"They pretty much ignored me. Not that I was complaining. And anyway they're probably dead now, right? Not much point in thinking about them anymore; they certainly wouldn't have spared a thought if it was _me_ that was dead."

Hermione didn't manage to find an answer, as they had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady that guarded the Gryffindor common room. Giving her the password, they clambered into the familiarly cosy room.

They found Ginny laughing, and Ron in a precarious perch on the fireplace.

"Come here you little..." he was shouting the tiny twittering grey owl, which was zooming excitedly around the chandelier in the middle of the ceiling. As they watched from the portrait hole, he leaned out a little to far and fell off onto a squidgy armchair, facing them.

"Harry! Hermione! What are you two doing here? Mum didn't say you were coming today! I was just going to send this little twit to you two!" He scowled in the direction of his owl. "Did you get your OWL results? Two _O_s, three _E_s and three _A_s! And one _P_, but that was Divination, it doesn't count!" He said, triumphantly seizing a piece of parchment from the floor and waving it in the air.

For several minutes they discussed their results, but then Ron expressed his dissatisfaction with Mrs Weasley's response to his grades.

"She said, 'yes dear, that's wonderful,' then just walked away, can you believe that! When Bill and Charlie got their OWLs she was straight on the Floo telling everyone she'd ever met! Yeah when Fred and George got _theirs_ she only yelled, but all they got was three _A_s. You'd think all I'd done was de-gnomed the garden or something!" Ginny patted him on the arm sympathetically.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. "Erm...haven't you two seen the _Prophet_ this morning?" Hermione asked. Both Ron and Ginny shook their heads.

"Well, Fudge was murdered by Death Eaters last night: there was a Dark Mark and everything. And listen —" Quickly Hermione filled them in on what Tonks and their mother had said, and what she and Harry thought it meant. When she finished, Ron and Ginny were staring at her; their mouths hanging open.

"It might not be that," Harry said, "it just seems most likely, considering half the Order's in Dumbledore's office and they don't look very happy."

For the next two hours, the four of them talked about what might be going on. Around half past eleven, a house elf Harry indistinctly remembered from illicit trips to the kitchens turned up with his and Hermione's trunks, and Ron and Ginny were able to read Hermione's copy of the paper themselves. After pouring over every word of the article several times, hoping to glean extra information from between the lines, they gave up and instead talked about what the consequences may be.

"Bet Percy will be happy, " said Ginny sarcastically, "I can see him now – he'll be curled up crying his eyes out like a baby!" she finished scathingly. The third eldest Weasley had shown himself to be very much on the Minister's side when he was denying Voldemort's return, and trying to turn both Harry and Dumbledore into laughing stocks, last year.

"Yeah, that's two bosses he's lost – one might be bad luck, but _two_ is just plain careless!" said Ron with savage glee. "First one swapped for one of You-Know-Who's minions, second murdered _by_ You-Know-Who's minions! Next thing he'll be working for You-Know-Who himself!"

"He's still not apologised then?" asked Harry.

"Apologise?" Ron gasped, "the prat wouldn't know how! You wait and see, even after this, he'll still be saying that the Ministry is the font of all that's holy and is absolutely right in all its decisions! Didn't Dumbledore tell Fudge ages ago to take Azkaban out of control of the Dementors? And look what happens – they join You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters escape!"

Ron continued in this vein for some time, with occasional vehement interjections from Ginny, in language Mrs Weasley would have found increasingly disgraceful. He was halted in the middle of a chain of invective that would have made the most hardened crook blush only by the entrance of Professor Dumbledore.

"Mr Weasley! I had no idea that you were a student of Muggle philology: you demonstrate admirable aptitude with the more... ah... indelicate areas of language. It's quite a talent you have there. Remarkable." Dumbledore twinklingly surveyed Ron over his half-moon spectacles as he sank down into his chair; his face flushing scarlet with embarrassment.

"I believe," Dumbledore continued, "that lunch is being served in the Great Hall if you care to make your way down. But first a word, if I may, Harry?"

Ginny and Hermione followed Ron out of the portrait hole: whether it was the possibility of food that made Ron so quick on his feet, or the opportunity to get away from Dumbledore, was impossible to tell. Harry remained seated in his armchair, not quite able to raise his eyes, while Dumbledore lowered himself down in the chair opposite him. The last time they had spoken, after he had gotten Sirius killed and attempted to mangle and demolish the Headmaster's office, the responsibility of the whole entire fight against the most evil wizard of recent times was lain upon he, Harry. Apparently he alone had '_the power to vanquish the dark Lord'. _And Dumbledore had thought it prudent to keep this from him for sixteen years, despite he, Harry, being the one who had witnessed his return, and saved the Philosopher's Stone falling into his hands, and...

"Harry," Dumbledore began, "I'm afraid I must begin with bad news. Magical Law Enforcement was advised two and a half hours ago of the appearance of the Dark Mark over your Aunt and Uncle's home. When the Aurors arrived, they found your Aunt, Uncle and Cousin had been killed."

Harry nodded. No surprise, in truth.

"The magic that protected you there is only very poorly understood: I had hoped that it worked reciprocally and protected your family as well as yourself. Unfortunately, that did not prove to be the case. I am terribly sorry Harry."

What could he say? That _he_ was terribly sorry, too? He wasn't. Aunt Petunia may have been his mother's sister, but apart from the barest lipservice being paid to the fact, she might as well have been a stranger. Neither she nor Uncle Vernon had ever offered him anything more than what they were obliged to give: meagre rations and their own son's old clothes. Harry merely shrugged in response.

Even determinedly staring at his knees, he could feel Dumbledore's eyes on him. Quite unwillingly, he raised his eyes and met the Headmaster's gaze, but almost immediately looked away. Never had he seen him look so grave, and it unnerved him.

"I think, Harry, it is ridiculous to deny that you are intimately involved in this war. With hindsight it is easy to tell myself that you always have been; though perhaps now I see that I have been unwilling to overcome my aversion to your association. I know, and I am sure you will agree with me when I say this, that my personal feelings have denied you the benefits that should have been accorded to you. Without those benefits you have suffered the loss of Sirius, and have had to bear burdens that I never foresaw. I can only apologise, and hope that I can make amends for my mistakes in the future. Now, however, I feel that it is imperative that you _do_ have all the help that is in my power to give to you, beginning with joining the Order, if you so wish."

Harry was speechless, his thoughts tumbling in a thousand directions at once. In the two weeks he had been confined to Privet Drive, lying on his bed in a somnolent stupor, his mind had turned time and again to the events catalysed by the Headmaster: his parents going into hiding in the place where they had been killed; being dumped on the doorstep of his Aunt and Uncle's house and forgotten for _ten years_; being ignored and uninformed all _last_ year then having everything he _should_ have been told _ages ago _hurled at him on the worst night of his life. He had come to harbour a furious resentment toward the man sitting opposite him that made him want to careen round his bedroom screaming and kicking the walls until the plaster cracked. Of course he had done no such thing, mindful of the fact that safeguarding his life or no, the Dursleys would not stand for such ostentatious behaviour and he would be out on his ear. But seeing Dumbledore now, he felt that rage tingle in his fingertips.

But at the same time he felt his heart in his throat pounding with adrenaline. To join the Order!

Once again he met the Headmaster's eyes, but instead of glancing away, he held his gaze, fully aware that in doing so he was giving an Occlumens the opportunity to read his thoughts, to see how angry and frightened he was. How was he, _Harry, _not even sixteen years old, supposed to kill a wizard whose aim was immortality when his was, or should be, to at last figure out Switching Spells?

To his great surprise, it was Dumbledore that looked away first. He rose stiffly and walked to the window, and after a long moment of staring out at the grounds, he spoke.

"Did you know, Harry, that we were first introduced only three days after you were born? I remember it as though it were yesterday. Your father and Sirius had thought it would amuse you to ride in the motorbike that Sirius used to fly and they, well I believe they termed it "borrowing you" although "kidnapping" would perhaps be more apt – it's certainly what your mother called it – and flew up here. I believe their excuse, on returning you to Lily, was urgent Order business though I recall nothing of the sort being discussed. Truth be told, they just wanted to show you off, Sirius as much as James. This was at the height of Voldemort's power of course, and social occasions were few, even for the wider Wizarding community: for members of the Order...I'm sure you can imagine..."

Harry could imagine all too clearly. Of the people in the photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix Moody had shown him last summer, only twelve were still alive and of those, two had been tortured into insanity and one had turned traitor. There must have been a lot of funerals.

Dumbledore turned back toward him and continued, "Now I am sure you can understand that three-day-old infants are rarely the most entertaining of creatures. I'm sure you slept the entire time you were "borrowed" from your mother. Your father and Sirius saw this as no obstacle in assuring me that you were quite the most exceptional individual I would ever come across, and frankly I am yet to find anything that proves them wrong."

At this, Harry felt a thick band tighten around his gut.

"I'm only _exceptional_ because of a stupid prophecy," he said dully.

"That is where you are altogether mistaken, Harry. A prophecy only foretells what _will_ occur; it neither institutes nor affects events. The prophecy Sybill made that night in the Hog's Head merely predicted the birth of an singular individual — you." Dumbledore sat back down in the opposite chair and leaned forward, "There is a vast difference. Despite being unaware of the prophecy until very recently, you have repeatedly acted to prevent Voldemort gaining power; and I believe if you were still unaware of the prophecy's existence, or even if the prophecy had never been made, you would still wish to hinder and defeat him."

Harry could only nod. Dumbledore was right.

The two of them sat in silence for a some time until Harry even began to realise that he was being given a chance to obtain the answers to questions that had been littering his brain for the past fortnight.

"Do all the members of the Order know about the prophecy?" It had occurred to Harry in the small hours of a sleepless night that Dumbledore must have told them _something _to explain why four people had to go into hiding, why Harry needed the protection he had, and why they had to risk life and limb to protect a dusty glass sphere. The thought that Mr and Mrs Weasley, Sirius, Lupin and Moody and people he had barely even _met_ knew while he had not had made his hands shake in anger.

In response, Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. "I'm sure you can appreciate that some people had to be told that prophesy important to our fight had been made. With your parents, and Mr Longbottom's, I obviously divulged the entirety. The rest of the Order are aware that a prophecy details the keystone of our fight, but they are entirely unaware of just what - who - that keystone is. They do know I have not disclosed all that I know, they are content to know that I have my reasons, namely, I believed that when the time came, it would be up to you to reveal the details as you saw fit."

At this, Harry was very much relieved. But...

"Sirius...?"

"Only knew as much as the rest of the Order, I believe. I advised your parents not to tell anyone of the remainder of the prophecy, as it was around this time that there was the beginning of a suspicion of a spy among our ranks. To my knowledge, they followed my advice."

Harry had not realised he had been holding his breath. He let it out now in a long sigh without meaning to and felt a little lighter, as though someone had taken away some of the immensely heavy load he had been carting about on his shoulders. The thought of Sirius knowing had tortured him – knowing and not telling him, or knowing and there being the possibility that he had been merely keeping up a pretence of godfatherly affection to keep him, the Weapon, happy. With his mind suddenly feeling so much freer, it occurred to him that now was the time to ask what had happened that had the members of the Order so concerned.

"Sir, Tonks told me this morning that something had happened...erm, other than Fudge, I mean."

Dumbledore looked at him now with a faint smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.

"I have spent the morning with the Wizengamot trying to answer the very same question, Harry." It was then that Harry noticed that Dumbledore was indeed wearing the plum-coloured robes he had seen at his disciplinary hearing the previous summer. "It appears that the Death Eaters captured in the Ministry of Magic in June escaped Azkaban sometime last night, though how exactly they were able to do this is still unclear: despite no longer being under the control of the Dementors, the magic interring the prisoners was expected to hold them for a while yet. The murder of the Minister, it seems was merely a diversion to allow time for their removal from the island."

So their suppositions earlier had been right. Voldemort now had twelve of his most loyal followers back in his employ, and he was unlikely to go to all that trouble just to lay low. Dumbledore apparently shared that opinion.

"I fear, Harry, that we should expect the worst in the coming days and weeks. Voldemort will not see any reason to deny his followers' the sport that they have missed this past year. Unfortunately we can but wait."


End file.
